


Yaihadla

by Firecadet



Series: Firecadet Soft Wars stories [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Soft Wars, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24746095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firecadet/pseuds/Firecadet
Summary: How, exactly, did Aayla and Bly end up with an infant on the way?Set in the Soft-Wars-Verse, using characters borrowed from Chess_Blackfyre.
Relationships: CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura
Series: Firecadet Soft Wars stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986859
Comments: 14
Kudos: 143
Collections: Open Source Soft Wars





	Yaihadla

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chess_Blackfyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chess_Blackfyre/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Midnight Snacks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24686323) by [Chess_Blackfyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chess_Blackfyre/pseuds/Chess_Blackfyre). 



> Written with the very kind permission of Chess_Blackfyre, who I hope enjoys the story. Galahad and Saint are their OCs.
> 
> Title translates as 'Pregnant' in Mando'a

**Tana System, Aboard RSS Liberty, Flagship, 327th Star Corps**

Looking up at the perfect male specimen of genetically engineered humanity that was sitting at her desk, staring at the terminal and wearing nothing except a smile, Aayla Secura, Jedi Knight, sighed, frustratedly.

“BLY! IT’S OH-THREE-HUNDRED!”

“I just have to get these last forms in, Cyar’ika.”

Her response was an incoherent shrieking growl, shortly before she climbed out from under the nice, warm, GAR-issue covers, and wrapped an arm around his neck. A quick step back later, and she was physically hauling him to bed.

“Aayla?” he asked, half-choked.

“Your duty hours finish at nineteen hundred.” She informed him. “After that, you have one hour for meals and hygiene, three for equipment maintenance, two for personal time, and then eight for sleep, followed by an hour to get up, eat, and be at your station.”

“An…”

“And you’re still working at Oh-three-hundred!”

Bly’s lips quirked as she threw him onto the bed.

“I guess I’m going to have to make it up to you.” He grinned, bobbing his eyebrows several times. His eyes involuntarily flickered sideways, to a nook only visible from the surface of the bunk. In it, a small light glowed a faint amber.

“Do you…”

“Bly, Galahad only installed that thing because there is a very small window before my implant needs renewing, which we do well under the manufacturer’s recommended duration, where it isn’t totally effective for Twi’leks, which shouldn’t be for another fortnight, and wanted us to have plenty of warning.”

“You’re sure?” Bly asked.

“Galahad checked the specs repeatedly when she first joined the 327th.” Aalya confirmed, bending down. “Now, since we don’t have to worry about waking any Padawans at the moment…”

Bly’s response was to reach out, with a wicked smile, before pulling her onto the bed.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

**One Month Later, Liana System, Medbay, RSS Liberty, Flagship, 327th Star Corps**

“Any symptoms, unusual feelings, or other things of note, before I stick a hypo in you?” Galahad Dulak, Jedi MedCorps, asked Aayla.

“Well, I’ve had less energy since Maris got back from her Res Selenoren.” Aayla observed. “And Bly has noticed that I seem to be dreaming a lot more.

Galahad sat backwards, for an instant, her cup of tea half-way to her mouth, then went and rummaged in a cabinet, fishing out a small, brown plastoid box, which still bore a Jedi Order seal. Absently slicing through the seal with a scalpel, she extracted a small sampler.

“Arm.”

Aayla held out her arm, unsurprised at the prick of a hypospray, followed almost immediately by the chill of a tiny jet of bacta.

It was plugged into an analysis station, which whirred for a couple of minutes, while Galahad pressed buttons and scrolled through menus, in between sips of tea. Aayla sat back, sipping her own tea, from a care package delivered by Quinlan Vos, and watched the healer work, slightly confused.

“You’re showing enhanced levels of tybreide, a reduction in dizyedransuene levels, and very high levels of brobdurphilproate.” Galahad announced. “Which means that I can’t give you your renewal shot.”

“What?” Aayla vaguely recognised the names of the hormones from her biology instruction but had no idea what the combination meant.

“General… I have the great pleasure to inform you that you are pregnant.”

Aayla looked at her, blinking, for a few moments.

“I’ve received a couple of other reports, from other members of the MedCorps, about shots from the same batch you had having come up short. They were over on the far side of the Core, and the manufacturer hasn’t issued a recall, so I guessed it was the usual variations you get in any batch.”

“Bly!” Aayla suddenly blurted, before pulling out her commlink. “CC- 5052, please report to Medical. CC-5052, please report to Medical.” She announced, down the intercom channel.

Bly took three minutes to arrive.

When he came charging through the door and noticed that Aayla was definitely a paler shade of blue than usual, he immediately crossed over to her, radiating concern and protectiveness.

“Cyar’ika?” he asked.

“It’s alright, Bly.” Aayla reassured him. “I just got some unexpected news. And I’m sure you’re going to be the best buir an ade could want.”

For some time, Galahad had had a running bet with Saint about exactly what it would take to make a CC faint. Drastic battlefield emergencies rarely had any effect. About the only thing they’d heard of was the loss of their General, which she would very much rather not happen. As it turned out, discovering that you were a father unexpectedly was enough to make one sit down very, very quickly.

“Oh.” He said, after a moment, looking at Aayla with the sort of soft fondness that many clones were slowly learning to express. “Oh.”

Aayla lent over, and gently kissed him.

“We’ll figure it out.” She whispered.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

As soon as he returned to his duty station, Bly wasted no time in glancing around the room.

“Bolt, Scram… I need you to help me conduct an urgent review.” He announced, after identifying the two clones doing the least work. “Go and get someone from Engineering as well. There may be significant modifications required as a result of a JIRR.”

“JIRR, sir?” Bolt responded.

“Jetti Ik'aad Readiness Review.”

“I see.” Bolt didn’t push. “I’ll talk to some of the Guard, as well. They have a section posted to the Temple, who help out in the creche.”

“From what little I know about Nat-Borns, they’re often very clumsy when they’re first decanted, and extremely curious.”

“I see. We’ll need to secure all of the ship’s outlets and protect them from sharp-edged corners and from objects they might pull over. As the ik'aad will be a Jetti as well, we’ll clearly need to secure all tempting hatchways and vents that they could get into, along with securing all the cables behind them, and making sure that everything on desks that can be is secured in place.”

Bly nodded. “See to it, Vod.”

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Aayla’s next task was to explain what was going on to her newly tattooed Padawan. Surviving for a month in the middle of a desert with nothing except a vibroblade had, at least, tanned the zabrak’s chalky skin, leaving her with a tone resembling dry soil after a month’s exposure to the barren desert wilderness of her homeworld. It was already starting to pale again, without constant exposure to a level of sunlight most planets could never match. The lighter skin increased the degree to which her array of tattoos, some of which closely resembled the lightning bolts on Bly’s cheeks, stood out against her skin. According to Master Koth, a gentle reminder had been required to avoid _much_ more extensive tattoos, to the extent that she would have resembled a swoop biker or professional Meshgeroya player, which, while not a _bad_ look, would not have suited a Jedi Padawan.

Maris was, when Aayla tracked her down, sitting in the officer’s lounge, with, as per usual, Apricot the loth-cat across her lap, sharing a squad-sized bag of nerf jerky with her. The cat’s head tracked the Twi’lek Jedi across the room, only returning to Maris to graciously accept the offerings of meat.

“Maris.” Aayla warmly greeted her padawan, pulling the girl into a hug. Compared to when she’d first arrived, Maris had begun to fill out, regular training with the clones improving her already Jedi-trained body’s ability to run and climb, along with lifting weights without the assistance of the Force.

Bly had insisted on that. Even though he wasn’t as bad as Rex, he still tried to make sure his General and Commander were fully equipped to survive the war. Losing access to the Force was unlikely, but, if it did happen, they would be prepared for it.

“Master.” She returned, with a smile, as the Loth-cat batted at her stomach, reminding her that there was food to be dispensed. “I felt…” she trailed off, hoping that this wasn’t one of _those_ talks. They’d had three of those, since she became Aayla’s padawan. Krava Corse, Cul-utaan Ocheron and Sovi Oomomo were all creche-mates of hers who she would never see again.

“I know.” Aayla replied. “You felt shock, alarm and confusion through our bond.” She smiled, reassuringly, projecting calm and happiness through the Force. “This isn’t a conversation that will add another name to your Litany, for once.” Most Jedi serving in the GAR had quietly adopted that tradition from their men, once they started to lose vode. “This is, in fact, a conversation that a Jedi perhaps _shouldn’t_ be having with her padawan.”

Maris perked up. The proffering of _illicit_ information was enough to pique her interest, as well as something that would help ensure her discretion in the group-chat she believed Aayla didn’t know about.

“I’m sure that you know about the fact that I have a very close relationship with Marshal Commander Bly.” Aayla began, prompting a grin from Maris.

“I know, Master.” Maris commented. “It’s… not a secret to me.”

“And, you know, how when two people have a very close relationship, things sometimes happen?”

“Master! I’m not that much of a kid. They gave me the Talk before I left the… oh… that was why you asked Bly to report to medical!”

“Yes.” Aayla confirmed, softly, as her padawan’s yellow eyes widened.

“I can’t sense anything.”

“Nor can I. Not yet. Even Galahad couldn’t.”

“So…”

“I was having my implant renewed.” There was nothing except matter-of-fact frankness there. Almost very Jedi had such an implant, with an extremely small handful of exceptions. “Galahad was sharing a cup of tea with me, and asking a few questions, just the standard mental health ones. She wasn’t sure about my answer and gave me a blood test. And, as it turns out…”

“You’re pregnant.”

“Indeed, I am, Padawan.” Aayla confirmed.

“Now…” Maris’ eyes glowed briefly. “What exactly are you going to offer me to keep this to myself?”

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Over dinner that evening, Bly couldn’t quite keep his attention on Aayla.

“Already planning, Cyare?” She finally asked.

“I’ve ordered a full review of the ship. I want to make sure that when our ik’aad is decanted, they will be entering into the safest environment possible.”

“Bly! They’re already going to have thousands of uncles looking out for them, wherever they go!”

“Cyare, how long has the Order had to refine the creche at the Jedi Temple?”

“Centuries, why?”

“And how many times did you or your creche-mates still manage to injure yourselves?”

“A few times. Gaman fell off his bunk while pillow-fighting with Erelen, and Amaya managed to tip a kettle over herself, although she didn’t hurt herself, as she managed to redirect the water.”

“And that’s in one of the safest buildings in the galaxy, with centuries worth of beta-testing, and constant adult supervision. This is a warship, built for adults, all with military training.”

Aayla flinched backwards slightly. “I take your point.”

“Now, the immediate results of the review were that the Command bathing facilities need a few upgrades. There’s a flexi-compartment that’s currently being used for bulk storage of spare command uniforms and datapads, so we’re moving most of the stock down to the main cargo area and keeping a few months’ worth on hand. In exchange, we’re installing an enhanced bathing section.”

“And how are you getting engineering to sign off on that? They’re absolutely religious about how long showers can be, never mind a sauna.”

“We’re scratching their back. They’ve got some issues with one of the condensers that supports the main life support system for the bridges, so they’re going to site the backup in the new bathing area.”

“Two birds…”

“One stone.”

Aayla smiled. “Any other features?”

“They’re installing a soaking pool, a plunge pool, and also some water showers, as they’re proven to improve the quality of life and mental health of crew, compared to sonic showers.”

“I see.” Aayla smiled. “Now, I’m sure that you’ve got something suitably chocolatey for dessert.”

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

In her quarters, eating a quiet tea, Galahad looked across the table at Saint, with a faintly considering expression.

"What?" The clone finally asked.

"I'm just wondering what our child would look like." She admitted.

"And what bought that on?"

"I gave some very happy news to the General and the Marshal-Commander this morning."

"Oh. So that was why he had Engineering preparing plans to pad every single corner on the ship, bolt everything to the floor, and generally shebse-proof the ship."

"Probably." Galahad admitted, putting a small saucer of strawberries and cream in front of the clone, keeping another for herself. "Now, at least until this is over, I'd rather not take the risk, but once it is, I'm sure you'll be the best father in the galaxy."

"I love you too, Cyar'ika."

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a  
> Ik'aad--baby, child under 3 years old  
> Cyar'ika: darling, sweetheart  
> Cyare: beloved, loved, popular  
> Jetti: Jedi  
> Buir: Parent (can be used for either gender)  
> Ade: Child  
> Meshgeroya: A sport played between two teams of 11 players, who, with the exception of goalkeepers, are only allowed to touch the ball with their head, chest or legs. Incredibly popular on Mandalore, and with clone troopers. Lit 'The Beautiful Game'. (Association Football)
> 
> Zabraki  
> Res Selenoren--Rite of Passage, it occurs after a young Zabrak's horns have grown all the way in.
> 
> Deleted Scene
> 
> Over dinner that evening, Bly couldn’t quite keep his attention on Aayla.  
> “Already planning, Cyare?” She finally asked.  
> “Well, General… I haven’t been able to find the Commander all day. Ever since you went to speak with her, she’s been incommunicado. Even the ship’s computer can’t locate her.”  
> Aayla smiled, her eyes lighting up. “Don’t worry, Bly. I’m sure she’ll turn up soon enough.”
> 
> -0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
> 
> In a compartment installed by Master Vos, that he had been sure his Padawan didn’t know about, Maris shifted, awkwardly trying to bring her teeth into contact with the ropes securing her arms to a bedframe, covered by a standard Jedi sleeping mat, as issued by the Jedi Temple.  
> Her ankles were similarly bound, although a certain amount of slack had been left in the ropes. With her wrists tied parallel, above her head, she would, eventually, be able to gnaw her way through the ropes, given the slack she had available.  
> It wasn’t like trying to blackmail your master to get a trip to a tattoo parlour on the next planet they visited that wasn’t a warzone deserved this. And how had her Master drugged her in the first place? She hadn’t even been near Maris’ hot chocolate! And why couldn’t she properly use the Force?
> 
> -0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
> 
> Aayla’s eyes had glittered as she left her impudent padawan somewhere lesson-affirming. Finding out that her Master had installed his own private cabin aboard her ship, shielded from the Force, had nearly been grounds to ban him from setting foot aboard, just out of principle. Of course, he wouldn’t have actually obeyed her diktat on the matter, so it’d been easier to simply booby-trap the door with 75 canisters of shaving foam. He’d gotten the message, at that point.  
> Still, it was useful to have somewhere one could stash insolent padawans for a day or two.


End file.
